First
by The Qilin
Summary: PWP. Oneshot. Cross/Lenalee. "There could only be him. Right? He makes no pretence of just what he does. He sleeps with women. He likes beautiful things. Him meaning General Cross Marian."


___DGray-man belongs to Katsura Hoshino and I'm only borrowing ideas from her._

_Characters: Cross/Lenalee_

_Warnings: sex_

* * *

**First**

Lenalee is not a prude. She was as inquisitive as any other person about relationships. The only things that stood between her and actually having relationships was her life and her brother. If she shared food with Allen, he would scream. If she meditated with Kanda, he would send more robots. If she allowed Lavi to flirt with her, he would shed all too many years.

She has thought about all three of them. She has hidden in her bedroom, touching herself whilst thinking of one, two, even three all at the same time. She has read enough and chanced enough glances to know the basics. And she is frustrated. Her dreams make her hungrier. Seeing them and not being able to make an attempt made it feel as if there was one thing in her life that would never be fulfilled.

Who ever heard of an Exorcist dying a peaceful death, married with children? She's being realistic. People simply dealt with it themselves, or with each other.

But Lenalee couldn't. She doesn't think about marriage, only the satisfaction of a being with someone else. It couldn't be with Kanda. Or Lavi. Or Allen. They were too close, too dear. She couldn't do "it" with any of them and feel guiltless.

Yet one more night of clutching her pillow, stifling moans and sleeping in dampened underwear wasn't appealing. She thinks for a week, then two weeks, her rational fighting with her cravings.

Tonight, she brushes out her hair and bemoans the length. She admires her form in the mirror and dabs on make-up. She wears a sleeveless dress the shade of midnight purple that only just brushes the top of her thighs, shorter than anything else she has worn. Is she actually pretty? Was this enough?

She walks out of her room, cloak over herself, with a hint of roses trailing her.

/

There could only be him. Right? He makes no pretence of just what he does. He sleeps with women. He likes beautiful things.

Him meaning General Cross Marian. Her heart still thuds nervously despite what she plans; has he only been with experienced women, those who knew what a man wanted? Would he turn her away?

But he has said she was beautiful and that she was already a woman. She could do this.

Lenalee slips off the flats. Time for the first stage of her plans: the guards.

She activates her Innocence and lets it carry her high. Soundless; only when she pushes it for more power will it make any noise. But she is not killing tonight. There is no point in that. She descends with force; the two guards see or here nothing as she neatly strikes them both on the head and then the back of the neck (thank, Kanda, for the lesson). A pause to make sure no one was around; then she picks both of them up and locks them away in a convenient closet. Before she closes the door, she forces a potion into both of them that promises to keep them asleep for two days. Overkill, but one could never trust the Science Department to have perfect potions. There were reasons nobody ever took them and had them all locked up. Oh, and the keys. Those she lifts from a pocket.

There is no need to deactivate her Innocence. Her boots were more beautiful than any shoes the world could make; they gave her confidence as they clicked while she walks forward and fit the key into the hole.

A moment of insecurity seizes her; what if he sends her away? What if he laughs at her?

"Are you going to stand there, Lenalee?"

She almost drops the key. How did he know it was her—

"Your footsteps are like no one else's. You can come in."

Faintly, she turns the key and pulls the door open. It's well-furnished and well-heated, but only lit by a single light. There is the smell of wine, cigarettes, leather, and other things she does not recognize. She ought to say something, but words cling against her tongue, refusing to leave. She sees him seated on a couch at the right side of the room. He wears a robe that is falling open, no shirt, dark trousers, and no shoes. One leg is crossed over the other, and a glass is in his hand.

"Good evening."

"Good evening." She replies as she clicks the door shut. The key has fallen from her hands with a dull thud to the ground. She doesn't care anymore. She's in and he's right in front of her.

"I know why you're here." At her expression, he simply takes another gulp from his wineglass. "Because you aren't the first."

"How would you guess?" She grips the edges of her cloak for support. "I'm not…I don't—"

"It takes an Exorcist to understand another Exorcist. We live one day, and die the next. You hold it together well, better than some others."

Her shoulders give a shudder.

"But even you need a time to not think about the future."

Was she so easy to read? She presses a hand over her mouth, and exhales forcefully. So many tears, and still more tears. Keeping her world together is tougher than most people would think. It keeps her going, but self-motivation grows weary.

Lenalee doesn't expect what was next. He stands next to her and embraces her. The folds of fabric smell familiar and oddly comforting. It's not the first time she has been held by him; in the Ark, then after returning to the Order she had to keep him from leaving. Her feet suddenly feel heavy and she finds herself being lifted up and carried to the sofa and set carefully down. The General sits next to her, his gaze on her. It's a slow, sort of examination by those eyes, eyes that seem to know her better than she knows herself.

She manages to not cry much; a few tears and then she breathes without hitching. He reaches out to pat her cheek.

"Better?"

"Yes." Her fingers laced together on her knees. "I'm fine, now."

"You're afraid, though."

Is he teasing her? No; one look at his face lets her know he is serious. Or, he could be playing into her weakness and letting her believe that he cares about her. If Allen is a puzzle, Cross was the ultimate enigma.

But she doesn't care. He'll take what she has to offer, and he won't hold it against her.

"I am a virgin."

"Everyone is a virgin, and then they are not. It's more of a rite of passage. This religion we are under, it considers a woman's virginity sacred." He pours himself another glass, and then moves a second glass close. Dark red spills into it. "And if I were to take if from you tonight, you would be _defiled_ in their ways. Impure." He takes her hand and places the other goblet into it, folding her fingers around the stem.

"I am still heathen in their eyes." It comes with nationality as well; her features are Asian, "exotic," and random men have looked upon her like some object they could use. But Cross does not look at her in that way.

"But a woman, nonetheless." He sees her at female and person. He sees her as a fellow Exorcist, but not as a close friend or comrade. That is why she has come to him tonight. "A woman who is not a child like some would believe her to be." His hand strokes her arm through her cloak, slowly.

She sips her wine and rolls the taste in her mouth. Bitter at first, then a burst of fruit and finally a lingering of flowers. It is very good wine, unlike the bitterness of some other spirits.

"I think…" she steadies her voice. "I am ready."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I—" pause. "I would like for you show me what it is like to be with another." She meets his gaze shyly, tongue heavy.

The smile he offers makes her stomach lurch, but not uncomfortable. He nudges her arm. "Finish that first."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

She obeys, tipping the glass and swallowing bit by bit. It sinks in quickly; but thankfully he only poured in a quarter, as if already knowing her tolerance. Still, she is warmer, and she has stopped shaking from uncertainty. A blush has settled in her cheeks, hotly.

He takes the empty glass away and sets it down. "Any time you want to stop—" His hand rests over hers. "I will not force you to do anything."

"I can do this." She unbuttons the cloak and allows it to fall away, revealing her shoulders, the low, low neckline, and the lace that rests on her thighs.

"Hm." He squeezes her hand thoughtfully. "That is a good start. But your Innocence is in the way, even if makes your legs quite graceful."

She deactivates and watches them curl into their anklet forms, cool and hard against her cross-shaped scares. With his hands, he lifts her feet up into his lap.

"Cold?"

"Not much." The alcohol in her system keeps her warm.

His fingers knead her toes and the soles of her feet, slowly. For the first time, she sees and feels his ungloved hands. Calloused, but still smooth in certain areas of his palms. And heated. They move up to her scares to trace the area. She lets her hands fall to the couch to grip. Her scars are not fresh, but they are unusually keen to touch and the more he moves over them, the more it prickles in a way that is connected to the slow build-up of longing need. He is the first to ever touch her like this aside from herself, and she has never run her hands over her legs the way he is doing.

He massages upwards, to her thighs. Her muscles tense and loosen; how far is he going up? But then he stops. She is about to say something, but he has replaced his fingers with his mouth. The tongue languidly swirls patterns, while lips caress more lovingly than his fingers could've.

She makes a soft, pleased sound. Something tells her there is no need to hide her liking of this. He goes from one leg to the other, at an unhurried pace. Again, he stops at her thighs, to shed his robes. Men she has seen shirtless, but none like him. She reaches out to maybe touch him, to reciprocate, but he pushes her hands down. "Later. Let me first explore."

Explore her. Lenalee swallows as the words touch her somewhere inside. Arousal was long ready for the right buttons to be pushed, and he has found all of them. She forces herself to relax, as he lifts the dress off her. She now wears only a brassiere, underwear, and shorts. Her feet are still on his lap, her head against one side of this sofa.

"Better than what I had imagined." Did he really imagine her, or was it for her benefit that he says that? Either way, he is slowly pulling her top attire off with practised ease.

She almost folds her arms over her breasts. They are nothing, she thinks. Small and nowhere near supple. However, he proceeds to hold them in his hands without pause, gaze not leaving her face. She looks down at the fingers circling there, and then up at him. He presses lightly, then firmly, giving attention to her nipples that were peaked.

"Nn—" Her legs shift when she feels a familiar wetness blossoming. She breathes erratically as he continues to stroke with a methodical hand.

"More?"

"Please."

He wasn't even near her most sensitive areas and she was already caving. He leans forward to kiss her; there is a mixture of more alcohol and cigarettes, then his actual taste. She swallows and pushes back to the best of her abilities. Then he leaves her mouth to trace gently down her pulse, resting on a collarbone then swiping down to her breast. Why is it that dampness undoes her in a way that fingers cannot? He carefully pays attention to both sides of her chest, licking and adding sucking until she is fidgeting under his ministrations, eyes closed.

"How do you usually touch yourself?"

She opens her eyes, confused but quite stimulated and it takes a while for the question to sink in. "I…"

"I know you do."

She glances down at herself. "Well, I…"

"Show me."

At least she can't seem to blush more than she does now. Shaking from desire and spurred by his words, so easily spoken about what was a private act, she unglues her fingers from the sofa, and pushes her shorts down, and cups her crotch through her remaining article of clothing. She slides her fingers back and forth over a tiny area that she has found years ago, working against it slowly. Cross watches her; she ought to be fazed but she is not. Her legs are parted and she rubs faster, rocking against her one hand and whimpering a little. When she is nearly at her peak, he stops her and takes her hand, slipping her fingers into his mouth.

Lenalee moans, a plaintive, wordless "please." Her head falls back and she wants him to touch him more, especially in the area she had just been paying attention to.

He seems to sense this and obligates by hooking his fingers into her panties and pulling everything off and dropping it to the floor. Before she can move, he lifts her up again and carries her to his bed, laying her down. He sits down next to her, hand touching her face.

"Are you doing to—"

He puts a finger on her lips. "I want to look at you." Naked. Exposed. Bared for him. Propriety wants her to cover herself and cross her legs, but she resists and allows his scrutiny to examine her from head to toe as her heartbeat drums in her ears. Never as she needed someone to touch her more than now, to be made to feel euphoria. She counts the seconds, all the while shifting her legs to accommodate how wet she feels.

"Beautiful and perfect." The general finally moves and he places his fingers against her private area. Stroking slowly and directly against her skin. "Do you like this?"

"Y-yes," she gasps, her hand clutching at her own breast.

"And this?" He presses a finger at her entrance and then pushes it in, a little.

"Mmm…"

"What about this?" That finger twists, while he keeps his thumb on that bit of area that is so sensitive for her, rubbing.

"General—_ah_." Was that really her speaking like that, begging and pleading? Her toes are numb from how hard she is squeezing them.

"Breathe." And then he bends his head to put his mouth to her folds. "Do you want me to lick down here."

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"I want your mouth. Against me. Again and again." She rushes the words, not even sure of what she is saying anymore.

She almost cries out at the intensity when he first touches her. Wetness to wetness, and there was a _tongue _touching her down there, lapping her as if she were a delicacy. His fingers remain, coaxing sounds and half-formed words out of her as she arches into him. He pushes a finger in and out of her, always making sure to brush by where his mouth is get. Pleasure builds, eagerly, for it had been waiting for the right friction and pressure. The soft, gasping noises do not sound like her when she hits her peak and tremours pass through her. She rides it out as he continues to lick until the sensations fade to a buzz.

He wipes his mouth and pats her head. "Very good," his tone of voice is pleased. "Did you like that?"

A nod. Her breathing is slowly returning to normal. She passes her hand over her face and finds sweat there. That was the best she felt in a life. She could not have done it to herself.

"But I thought—"

"No, we are not done, if you wanted to go further."

Her skin is cool, and she shivers as she sits up. "Further." Her eyes settle on the bulge of his trousers. He has stimulated her completely, taking her to heights she had not know. She doubt she could do that much for him, but she hopes she won't be a failure at it.

He pulls a blanket over her, then guides her hands to his chest. She remembers his hands, and kneads the same way. He sighs and pushes against her. Encouraged, she uses her fingertips to tease his nipples until she can see the dark flush in his face that matches hers.

She curls her tongue over those nubs, sucking slightly both of them as he had done before to her. She pulls away only when he moves and undresses himself. Finally, they were both bare.

His girth is…large. Or maybe it's simply uncertainty rising in her again because she has never had anything inside of her.

"It will hurt."

"I'll be…fine." Lenalee wets her lips. "I can take pain worse than it." As if to prove she is ready, she begins to fondle him, tugging and squeezing. The sound he makes sends a shiver down her back. He helps by putting his hands over her, silently telling him how he prefers to be touched. She finds out how he likes his testicles to be handled, and then with delicate scratching with her fingernails. But when she lowers her head, he stops her.

"You don't have to."

"But you…"

"Women have a faster recovery time."

He lifts her chin with the back of his index finger to kiss her again. At the same time he pulls her flush against him. His length is quite near her, thick and heavy. She stirs, shifting her legs. Already she is slowly growing warm again, and the blanket falls off her shoulders.

She is about to breathe, but he continues to kiss her even while his hands move. When he breaks away and she has stars in her vision, he's already prepared himself.

"How do you want it," he asks, hands rubbing her shoulders and back. "With me on top, or you on top? From the front or from behind?"

"You-you on top." Lenalee lifts her shoulder in shrug; did it matter? Still, she likes that he asks and waits before doing anything with her.

She lies on her back, head cushioned by a pillow. Fingers lift her legs and settles them around his waist.

"Just breathe. Slowly," he tells her as he positions himself. The tip brushes over that bundle of nerves and she gulps visibly. "And relax."

It does hurt. Awkwardly and painfully down there as he pushes in, and waits. She remembers to inhale and exhale, chest rising and falling. He uses a finger to touch her, as if to distract from his movements. It helps; she concentrates on his stimulation until he is fully inside of her, tightly. She looks a little dazedly up at him.

"It is always like this."

"Sometimes better." He thrusts once, leisurely. Control is his; she sighs and tilts her hips up.

Ever so gradually, he continues until he is rocking unceasingly into her, then with more force. She bits her lip and then the inside of her mouth, and then places her hands on his shoulders. Her hips move in time to his, entreating for more, as much as he could give.

He grunts and then pulls her up; she can now cling to him, their chests bumping against each other. His finger caresses her entrance and then concentrates on the region she feels the most pleasure, tightly pushing.

"Come…Lenalee…" And for the second time that night she releases, choking out his name and other indecipherable sounds as her pulse leaps and she clutches so hard she leaves scratches in his skin. He plunges himself in and out a few more times until he also comes. She sags into him, shoulders heaving as she catches her breath. He does the same, and there is only the sounds of inhaling and exhaling.

"Was that all right?" she asks. "I barely did anything."

"You needn't worry." He runs a hand through her hair. "It was about you tonight." One more kiss, slow and thoughtful. He removes himself from her and they sit, side-by-side, with a blanket over them.

She pulls her legs up. The ache is now there, reminding her how he'd touched her like that. How he'd filled her like no other man has done. Her body, no longer that of a virgin's.

"I should go." It's either very late at night or very early in the morning. Time has been ignored and now life must resume.

"I'll take you." She is about to protest, say how he might be caught, but she catches his smirk. He doesn't care about that, she realizes, nor does he care about how she had knocked out two guards and put them away.

They dress…or, he dresses. He insists on pulling her clothing on and then he dresses himself, then he picks her up and carries her out the door.

Lenalee wonders if there will be a next time. But does it matter? She has experienced something nearly everyone ought to experience, to enjoy and to be with another person in an intimate way.

And for one night, she has no thoughts about all of the burdens she carries. Her sleep will be dreamless tonight, and peaceful.


End file.
